


Christmas

by tornyourdress



Category: Have I Got News For You RPF
Genre: Angst, Extramarital Affairs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:42:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24445264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tornyourdress/pseuds/tornyourdress
Summary: A quick visit to a friend over the holidays.
Relationships: Ian Hislop/Paul Merton
Kudos: 5





	Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Written summer 2004. A rare non-ridiculous look at this pairing.

It’s far too early in the morning but he gets up anyway, because that’s what good fathers do on Christmas morning after Santa has delivered presents to the kids – even if it is seven a.m. and even if it’s not so much Santa as the presents that they believe in anymore. 

They wait, crouched on the floor, for Victoria to get downstairs. The Santa-presents can be opened as soon as the kids wake up; the others have to wait for the whole family to be present. It’s the Christmas rule. Ian knows he only has a few Christmases with them left before they’re too old for this, before even the magic of Christmas won’t cut through the cynicism of young adulthood. He tries to savour it, but every year it slips through his fingers like water; he can’t stop time. 

He feels he should appreciate this more, to completely immerse himself in this Christmas morning excitement before it fades away, but all he feels is tired.

He can’t compartmentalise his life like Paul can. He can’t keep emotions and events in their appropriate little box; they seep out and stain everything else, even if he’s the only one who notices. He thinks of Paul now, alone on Christmas Day. _On fucking Christmas Day_ , he thinks angrily and sadly. They’d invited him over for dinner, not wanting him to spend the day on his own. The first Christmas is always the hardest. Paul refused the offer. He didn’t want to intrude; he’d rather be alone.

 _Intrude_. He appreciates the sentiment in some ways; he knows Victoria suspects something, though she’s kind enough to pretend that she thinks they’re just friends. He still loves her, and she knows it; maybe that’s why she’s willing to turn a blind eye to his indiscretions. Or perhaps it has gone over her head and it’s just his own guilty conscience playing up, like now, when his daughter looks at him and he thinks she can read his mind, and really, if he’s thinking logically, she’s just waiting until she can unwrap that present in her hands without breaking the Christmas rule.

Victoria is only just making her way into the room now, and already he is thinking about how quickly he’ll be able to escape for a minute to call Paul. He wonders if his self-reprimanding is evident on his face; Christmas morning is not the time to be thinking about the man you’re having an affair with. Definitely not.

He could go over there for a visit. Would she say anything? Would she read the guilt on his face or would she understand the need to be there for a friend? Maybe. It’s Christmas and he needs to be there, if only for a little while. 

He leaves after dinner with no complaints or even suspicious looks; there’s another cheesy Christmas film on the television and that’ll hold them captive for the next two hours, anyway. He can’t manage to feel as guilty as he knows he should, but he thinks it’s because he really isn’t paying this visit out of lust or desire, only a need to provide company or comfort or whatever will work.

He remembers a Christmas a few years ago – was it before the divorce came through or not? He’s not sure, but he knows Paul and Caroline weren’t together that Christmas – after they’d filmed the show for video, after Paul had tied with world peace for what people wanted for Christmas. He remembers being torn between stupid jealousy and hurt that no one seemed to want him wrapped up for under their tree, and delight that he would be getting that particular gift for Christmas, that he would have Paul. He remembers that was a Christmas of sheer lust, when the sex filled the gaps between conversations. This Christmas it would feel wrong and inappropriate, and he wonders why it feels worse to cheat on his wife with a widower than it did when Paul was a married man. 

Paul answers the door in his dressing-gown, his hair mussed as though he’s just got out of bed. “What are you doing here?” he asks, but he doesn’t sound entirely displeased, just a little surprised.

Ian thinks about it for a moment before the words come to him. “It’s Christmas,” he says, and Paul opens the door wide enough to let him in.


End file.
